Speaker 1: I'm serious this time, Cody said, leaning across the cracked
picnic table. His breath smeled like sour candy, and his
eyes looked huge behind his bent up glasses. It's a
real ritual, real real I didn't just find it on
Google or YouTube this time. I had to go through
this whole creepy website you can't even find unless you
do this thing with your computer. It's called a hidden
browser or something. I snorted and picked at the peeling
paint on the table. Yeah, just like the real ritual
where you made me eat a crayon and told me
my future would come true if I pooped out the
whole thing in one piece. Cody shoved me with his elbow,
but it barely counted as a shove. He was skinny,
always had been, with elbows so pointy he could probably
stab someone if he wanted. That was a joke. It
is different. I did research this time, real research. Hows
of it? I leaned back and squinted at him, trying
to keep a straight face. Cody doing research usually meant
he found some kid on a forum who told him
how to summon a ghost with a spoon and a prayer.
Thing was he was my friend, always had been, ever
since kindergarten, when he wore a cape to school for
three weeks straight and told everyone he had wizard blood.
Cody had this thing about creepy stuff, monsters, spells, ghost stories,
you name it. He collected weird facts the same way
normal kids collect baseball cards. Every week he had a
new ritual, or a new monster, or a new story
about a haunted road he read about somewhere on a blog.
Since I had stuck with him through all of it,
most kids lumped me into the same weird bucket. We
were the spooky kids, the ones who made paper mache
monsters in art class instead of finger painting flowers. Teachers
thought we were harmless, but other kids mostly kept their distance.
I think they figured if they stood too close, they
might catch whatever weirdness we had. Cody could be annoying sometimes.
He always thought he knew more than every one else.
He had this thing where he would keep secrets on purpose,
just to drive you crazy enough to beg him for answers.
But he was my best friend. So when he looked
at me with that dopey, excited face and said, come on,
it'll be awesome, I swear, I sighed and gave him
a fist bump across the table. Fine, I said, but
if I end up eating another crayon, I'm never speaking
to you again. Cody grinned so hard I could see
the spot whereas to the chip, last summer deal, and
if it does work, this is the last one. Swear
in your Pokemon cards. He agreed, and that's when I
knew he was serious. We met up after school and
got on our way. Cody beat me off the starting
line by a mile, his sneakers slamming against the pedals,
his bike rattling across the potholes so bad I thought
his front wheel was going to pop off. I pushed harder,
standing on my pedals and leaning into the race, but
Cody had that manic energy you only get when you
think you're about to do something hystoric. We cut through
the neighborhood fast enough to make old ladies walking their
dogs yell at us. Lawns blurred past, and I could
smell fresh cut grass and someone grilling hot dog somewhere.
Cody whooped when we hit the downhill slope by the
abandoned video store, arms outstretched, coasting like he was flying.
His house came into view at the end of the block,
squat and square, a saggy basketball hoop clinging onto the
garage by a single bolt. The lights were off. They
were always off. His mom worked nights, sometimes entire weekends.
His dad was never in the picture. Cody never said why,
and I never asked whatever had happened. He left Cody
half wild and half grown up in a way no
one else our age really was. He pretty much raised
himself on cereal and horror movies. We dumped our bikes
in the dirt patch by his porch. The kickstands so
useful it was a miracle they stayed up at all.
Cody fumbled with his keys for a second before he
got the door open. Then he turned and grinned at me.
Prepare to be amazed, he said, puffing his chest out.
I followed him inside. The house smelled a little dusty,
a little sweet, probably from the mountain of snack wrappers
Cody never got around to cleaning up. We headed straight
for the basement door. Cody threw it open with a
dramatic sweep of his arm, motioning me to go first.
I took one step down and froze the whole basement
had been transformed. There were candles arranged in neat little
circles around a massive chalk pentagram drawn right into the
concrete floor. Bowls of salt sat at every point of
the star. We had junk, broken mirrors, little bones, Stacks
of torn book pages sat all over the place. The
air felt heavier, almost sticky, and it smelled like burnt
matches and something else. Cody bounded past me and let
down the last few steps two at a time. He
grabbed a crumpled bag of chips from the arm of
a ragged chair and tossed it my face armor up, soldier,
he said, ye cannot battle age and evil and an
empty stomach. The bag hit me square between the eyes
and dropped to the floor. I bent down to pick
it up, feeling my heart thump a little harder. This
was way beyond anything Cody had ever done before. Again,
usually his rituals meant chanting into a bathroom mirror with
the lights off, or making me stack a bunch of
river rocks in a circle and whispered to them until
we got bored. One time, when he really talked it up,
he confessed afterward that he had made the whole thing
up because he thought it would be funny to tell
people we thought a ghost by hitting it with plastic
baseball bats. But this looked real. I crinkled the bag
chip in my hands and gave him a look. He
went full psycho for this one. Huh. Cody just grinned wider,
bouncing on the balls of his feet, candles flickering behind him.
Only the best for my last ritual ever, he said,
swear it. Cody plopped down cross legged at the edge
of the pentagram and motioned for me to do the same.
I settled into the spot across from him, cradling the
bag of chips he had thrown at me earlier. Crumbs
stucked my fingers already, and I knew he would yell
at me if I touched anything important, so I wiped
my hands and my jeans first. Okay, Cody said, pulling
a rumpled piece of notebook paper from his hoody pocket.
The lines were crooked and written in his messy, tilted handwriting.
He smoothed it out on the floor, squinting at it
in the candlelight. You gotta read these lines together. You
gotta mean it too, or it won't work. I stuffed
a handful of chips into my mouth and gave him
a thumbs up. He cleared his throat, and together we
started mumbling through the words. It sounded like total nonsense.
Some of it was in Latin, or at least what
Cody thought Latin sounded like. Other parts were weird, gibberish phrases,
things about opening doors and trading names. I mumbled along,
half hearted, crumbs falling into my lap, trying not to
crack up when Cody got super intense and threw his
whole chest into the weirder parts. Every now and then
he would stop and scurry around the circle, fixing a
candle that burned too low, or pushing the salt line
back into shape with the side of his shoe. His
forehead was shiny with sweat, and his face had that
scrunched up serious luck he got whenever he played board
games or made spaghetti by himself. I was half way
through another handful of chips when it happened. The pentagram
on the floor pulsed. At first, I thought it was
my eyes playing tricks on me. Maybe the candles were
flickering weird because of the traft from the basement door.
But then it pulsed again. A faint red cloak crawled
along the lines Cody had drawn. I blinked and leaned forward,
wiping my hands again, trying to make sure I was
not just seeing things. Cody sat back on his heels,
mouth hanging open, eyes huge. I told you, he whispered,
bouncing a little where he sat. I told you. The
glow deepened, steady and low, and the candles began to tilt,
not flicker, tilt. Every tiny flame bent inward toward the
center of the pentagram, like little soldiers getting pulled by
invisible strings. The air got thicker. It pressed against my skin,
against my ears, almost buzzing. I could smell something new,
now sharp and metallic, under the burnt match smell. Cody
clapped his hands once, beaming, it's happening. Finally, did you
use glowing the dark chalk or something? I quizzed. He
jumped up, ignoring my question and started pacing outside the circle,
waving the crumpled notebook paper around. Okay, okay, okay, so
there's some rules, he said, excitement pouring out of him.
But trust me, it's worth it. I mean, you have
to follow the rules. Duah, But there's a reward at
the end, and it's supposed to be awesome, like life
changing awesome. He darted back to the edge of the circle,
crouching low. His voice dropped to a whisper. Even though
we're alone and there's a fail safe, I can end
it whenever, so don't freak out, all right, I'm not
going to tell you what it is yet, though I
know you you're chicken out the second you feel breezing
your neck or something. I opened my mouth to argue,
but the words froze in my throat. Something was moving
behind Cody. I stared, heart hammering so loud I could
hear it in my ears. A shape, black, rising slow
out of the glowing center of the pentagram, arms unfurling
like smoke, but heavier. It towered over Cody, without making
a sound, just this huge, awful silhouette, when nothing had
been a second ago. I tried to yell, tried to
say his name. My tongue fumbled around in my mouth,
pushing out broken pieces of words that did not make sense.
Cody frowned at me, confused, his eyebrows scrunched together. Dude,
what do you do? He never finished the sentence. The
thing behind him moved fast. There was a sound, sharp
and wet and cold. His head snapped sideways and tumbled
off his shoulders before his body even knew what happened.
His body wabbled for a second, knees knocking together, and
then it collapsed in a heap beside the pentagram. Blood
sprayed across the floor, across the chalk line, across the
toes of my shoes. I hit the basement stairs so
hard I barely touched the steps. My shoes slipped against
the wood, and I slammed my shoulder into the wall.
It scraped along the old, chipped paint, but I barely noticed.
I kept moving, grabbing for the hand rail and yanking
myself up faster. The second the basement door came in
to reach and threw it opened so hard it banged
against the wall behind it. I tore through Cody's living room,
knocking over a lamp with a crash that exploded behind me.
My chest burned already, but I could not stop. I
skidded out the front door and sprinted for my bike,
yanking it upright so hard the kickstand snapped off and
skittered across the sidewalk. I threw myself onto the seat,
peddling before I had both feet planted, knees wobbling, tires
spitting gravel. As I took off down the street, my
lungs heaved against my ribs. My legs screamed. My teeth
were clenched so hard my jaw ached. It's fake, it's fake.
He's pranking me. The words pounded against the inside of
my skull with every spin of the pedals. Cody had
set it up. He probably hired his older brother or
some one from the high school to wear a costume
to pull some sick horror movie tree s on me.
He'll be standing in his driveway to morrow morning with
a video on his hand, laughing so hard he could
barely breathe. He would show everyone at school. The street
lights buzzed overhead, casting puddles of orange across the sidewalk.
As I tore through them, I blew past Missus Redfield's
prize rose bush and clipped the edge of mister Tanner's
garbage cans, sending them rolling out into the road behind me.
I finally skidded into my driveway, tires squealing against the
crack cement My legs gave out half way off the bike,
and I stumbled to the front door, fingers fumbling with
the handle. Before I managed to shove it open. The
sound of my parents arguing hit me before I even
stepped inside. It was the same fight. They always had
money schedules, who forgot to pay the water bill. This
time their voices tangled together into one long, messy noise
that filled the house and rattled the windows. I bolted
up the stairs two at a time. My hands shook
so bad I could barely grab the railing, but I
made it to my room and slammed the door behind me.
I crawled into bed, still wearing my shoes. I yanked
the blanket over my head and curled up as small
as I could get, pulling my knees to my chest.
The smell of sweat and dirt clung to my clothes.
My heart thudded against my ribs so hard it hurt.
He pranked me, That was all it was. He scared
me so bad I thought it was real. That stupid,
stupid glowing the dark pentagram, that fague monster suit, that
blood was probably just ketch up or something. He bore
to the Halloween store he was going to laugh about
this forever. He was going to tell everyone. I was
going to be the joke of the whole school. I
squeezed my eyes shut and tried to slow my breathing.
Tomorrow he would text me. Tomorrow, he would say gotcha
and send me the video, and I would hate him
for a week, and then we would be fine again.
Tomorrow this would all be over. My parents kept arguing
over groceries, just another part of the night. I could
ignore if I squeeze my eyes shut hard enough. I
wanted to wait for them to quit arguing and then
ask about Cody. Maybe they go check, just in case.
Then my dad's voice changed. It cracked, pitched higher. I'd
never heard him make before. Something slammed downstairs hard. Something
else toppled over right after it. Glass shattered, thick and ugly.
My body went stiff under the blanket. I gripped the
fabric tight enough that my knuckles popped. Another slam louder,
this time, something heavy hitting the wall. Then nothing. Silence
pressed against my ears until I could hear my own breathing,
rough and shallow under the covers. I stayed frozen for
a bit. My parents never fought. I didn't really know
what to do, so I sat waiting for my mom's
voice to come cutting through the quiet, waiting for to
yell at my dad again, for the fight to pick
up where it left off. Nothing came. I pulled the
blanket off my face, Moving slow, I slid off the bed,
feet hitting the floorboards so soft they barely made a sound.
I crept toward the door and pressed my ear against it.
Still nothing. My fingers trembled against the doorknob. The hallway
outside stretched, shadows pooling at the edges, with the light
from my room did not reach. I took one step out,
then another. I leaned over the banister and looked down
into the living room. For a second, my brain could
not make sense of what I saw. The couch was overturned,
cushions split open, stuffing spilling across the floor. The coffee
table had been smashed into splinters, pieces of woods sticking
up in every direction. Blood soaked into the carpet, a deep,
dark stain that spread all the way to the walls.
My parents were in the middle of it, twisted and broken,
their faces stared up at the ceiling with wide, glassy eyes,
mouths frozen open like they had been mid scream. Blood
pulled under their bodies, seeping into their clothes, their skin
already pale. I stumbled back a step, my hand clamping
over my mouth before a scream could tear loose. In
the far corner of the room, Crouched low near the fireplace,
something moved. It was hunched over, folded in on itself,
head cocked at an angle that made my stomach turn.
Its skin was stretched, almost black against the shadows. Then
it lifted its head, its eyes locked on to mine.
I knew without a doubt it was the same thing
from the basement, the thing that had taken Cody's head
clean off his shoulders without a sound. It had followed
me home. Cody had promised he could end it whenever
he wanted. He had said there was a fail safe
away to stop it. But Cody was dead, and I
had no idea how to end it. I turned started
running again, slipping once on the wood and smashing my
shins so hard I almost fell. I caught myself on
the railing and stumbled forward, crashing through the hallway, barreling
down the stairs so fast my shoulders slammed against the wall.
At the bottom. The creature had moved. I could hear
it behind me now, something scraping across the broken floor.
I hit the front door full speed, shoulder first, and
it popped open so hard it bounced off the outside wall.
Cold air slapped against my face. Pain shot up through
my legs, but I kept going. Tears blurred against my
vision until the trees at the edge of our backyard
became one big smear of black. I headed straight for them,
gasping so hard my chest felt like it would tear open.
The old shack sat half hidden in the woods. It
had been there since before I was born, left over
from whoever owned the land, before our house was built.
It smelled like wet wood and mold and raccoons. Cody
and I used to play there when we were younger,
before we got too old for secret forts. I dove inside,
tripping over the threshold, landing hard on my hands and knees.
I scrambled o'er the darkest corner, curling up behind a
pile of rotten beams and torn up insulation. The air
in the shack was colder than outside. It scratched at
my throat with every breath. Dust stuck to the sweat
of my face. I pressed my forehead against my knees,
trying to fold myself into a ball so small nothing
could find me. My heart beat against my ribs so
hard it made me feel sick, every thump louder than
the last, until it filled my ears and drowned out
everything else. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to
breathe without making a sound. I don't know what it is,
I don't know what it wants, and I don't even
know how to stop it.